The Arizona sentinel., 1887-08-20
A MODEL MILLIONAIRE.
The Story of an Old Beggars
 Wedding Present.

Unless one is wealthy there is no good in being a charming fellow. Romance is the privilege of the rich, not the profession of the unemployed. The poor should be practical and prosalc. It is better to have per manent income than to be fascinating. These are the great truths of modern life which Hughie Erskine never realized. Poor Hughle! Intellectual ly, we must admit, he was not of much importance. He never said either a brilliant or an ill-natured thing in his life. But then he was wonderfully good-looking, with his crisp brown hair, his clear-cut profile, and his gray eyes. He was as popular with men as he was with women, and he had every accomplishment except that of making money. His father had bequeathed him his cavalry sword and History of the Peninsular war" in fifteen volumes. Hughie hung the first over his looking-glass, put the second on a shelf between Ruff S Guide'' and "Baily's Magazine" and lived on two hundred a year that an old aunt allowed him. He had tried every thing. He had gone on the Stock Exchange for six months; but what was butterfly to do among bulls and bears? He had been a tea mer- chant for little longer. but had soon tired of Pekoe and Souchong. Then he had tried selling dry sherry. That did not answer. Ultimately he be- came nothing, a delightful, intellectual young man, with a perfect profile and no profession.
 To make matters worse, he was in love. The girl he loved was Laura Merton, the daughter of a retired Colonel who had lost his temper and his digestion in India, and had never found either of them again. Laura adored him, and he was ready to kiss her shoestrings. They were the hand somest couple in London, and had not a penny-piece among them. The Colonel was very fond of Hughie, but would not hear of any engagement.
 Come to me, my boy, when you have got e10, 900 of your own, and we will see about it" he used to say; and Hughie looked very glum on those days, and had to go to Laura for con- solation.
 One morning, as he was on his way to Holland Park. where the Mertons lived, he dropped in to see a great friend of his. Alan Trevor. Trevor was painter. Indeed, few people escape that nowadays. But he was also an artist, and artists are rather rare. Per sonaIly, he was strange, rough fel- low, with freckled face and red hair. However, when he took up the brush he was a real master, and his pictures were eagerly sought after. He had been very much attracted by Hughie, at first it must be acknowledged, en- tirely on account of his good looks. ''The only people a painter should know" he used to say, ''are people who are bete and beautiful, people who are an artistic pleasure to look at and an intellectual repose to talk to. Dan- dies and darlings rule the worldr' However, after he got to know Hughie better, he liked him quite as much for his bright, buoyant spirits and his generous, reckless nature, and had given him the permanent e'atree to his studio.
 When Hughie came in he found Trevor putting the finishing touches to a wonderful life-size picture of beg gar man. The beggar himself was standing on a raised platform in a corner of the studio. He was wizened old man, with face like a wrinkled parchment and a most piteous ex- pression. Over his shoulders was flung a coarse brown cloak. all tears and tat ters; his thick boots were patched and cobbled, and with one hand he leaned on rough stick, while with the other he held out his battered hat for aims.
 "What an amazing mOdel?' whis- pered Hughie, as he shook hands with his friend.
 "An amazing model?" shouted Ire vor at the top of his voice; q should think SO! Such beggars as he are not to be met with every day. A trouUastte, mon cher; living Velasquez! My stars! what an etching Rembrandt s,,o,,ld bave made of himri